


Never the twain shall meet

by AtPK



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:23:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtPK/pseuds/AtPK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Zakarius Appreciation Week Drabble: Favourite Ship (Day 1) and Favourite AU (Day 2) - Erumike and Pushing Daisies AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never the twain shall meet

Mike leaned back against the window frame, staring down at the training ground. It was a warm, balmy afternoon, and everything had slowed down. He could hear voices chattering merrily below, but he couldn’t work out who they were from sound alone.

He took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes, pulling the notes and strings of scent apart. Deep, musky, sweat and horses, an undercurrent of something savage. Eren Jaeger; obviously having just finished his chores. Bright, fresh, sage and Lavender, an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place yet. Something unknown and mysterious. Mikasa Ackerman. Light, dark, earthy, an undercurrent of something to keep an eye out for. Armin Arlert.

Mike was still getting used to the smell of the new recruits, they were as yet an unknown, unlike the people currently sitting at the table behind him. Clean, sharp, astringent, bitter, an undercurrent of something …. needy. Levi Ackerman. Dirt, grit, brilliant light, an undercurrent of excitement and energy. Hanji Zoe. And his one absence of scent. Erwin Smith. To Mike, Erwin didn’t smell of anything and for a time that had troubled him, until he realised that maybe it was just that Erwin was too much for him to measure, his emotions too strong for Mike to pin down to one undercurrent.

The only time Mike could smell Erwin was when he bled; his blood acting as a catalyst on Mike, assaulting his senses and making his stomach twist in knots. There had only been a few occasions, since they’d first met in training corps, when Mike had smelled Erwin and, on each of those occasions, if Mike hadn’t been there to stem the flow of blood, Erwin might not have made it.

Erwin was an absence of smell, but one that Mike could track because of the blank quiet space among the chaos.

Mike continued to watch the white clouds skud across the sky, continued to listen to the young recruits below, and his fellow companions behind, continued to enjoy the time while it lasted. He knew after all that this was just a brief respite in the storm, a stolen moment of peace.

Within the week, they were once again thrust into battle.

It was bloody. A massacre.

Mike extended his blades and sliced the nape of yet another titan that had appeared, lumbering over the crest of the hill. He landed and looked around him, catching just a glimpse of Levi in the mêlée before he was gone again. Mike was horseless, the carts were compromised and Erwin was nowhere in sight to give the order to retreat.

Nanaba ran up to his side, panting heavily: “This is bad.”

That was an understatement. And it was just about to get worse.

It hit him, the taste in the back of his throat, the copper of blood. Erwin’s blood.

He reacted instantly: “Give the order to retreat, get them back to the wall.”

Mike grabbed the reins of a passing horse.

“Where are you going?” Nanaba asked, alarmed.

“Just find Levi; get them moving.” he ordered, swinging up onto the horse’s back and turning it sharply in the direction of the blood scent. Mike dodged the legs of titans, hacking at the fingers of grasping hands, focused completely on finding Erwin.

Mike found him in the muddy expanse of the open field, his gear broken, his body crushed, eyes staring blankly at the sprigs of grass swaying softly in the breeze. Mike’s heart wrenched in his chest as he jumped down from the horse and ran to Erwin, falling to his knees beside his lifelong friend and lover.

A single sob fought its way out of him, like it was his heart trying to escape from his chest. A single, desperate cry of loss and disbelieve and injustice. Why him? This beautiful, selfless, wonderful man, so undeserved of the shit he’d been dealt. This was no way for him to go; twisted and discarded, forgotten in the detritus of battle.

Mike didn’t even give it a second thought as he placed his hand on Erwin’s cold skin, feeling the spark jump from him to Erwin. He held his breath and waited; he’d never tried to reanimate a full grown man before; children, animals, yes, but he didn’t know if it would work on someone so obviously dead.

It was another few silent moments, listening to the cries of soldiers in the distance, before Erwin flinched and shuddered; his eyes snapped shut, his lids flickered as if he was waking from a deep sleep. His fingers clenched and unclenched; his leg muscles spasmed.

Erwin opened his eyes and stared at Mike, and Mike leapt away from him, scrambling backwards in the mud to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Mike,” Erwin rasped. “What?”

His face twisted in pain and he looked at Mike questioning; Mike just stared back at him, the relief too big for him to speak.

“What happened?“ Erwin groaned.

Mike swallowed. “You died.”

Erwin seemed not to hear him at first, too distracted by the obvious evidence of his extensive injuries; injuries he shouldn’t have survived. “I died.” he repeated. “Mike.” he exclaimed. “You didn’t.”

What else could he have done? The world needed Erwin Smith. He needed Erwin Smith.

“It’s OK,” Mike muttered. Erwin tried to stand up, but his body was still weak from being dead. Mike wanted to help him, wanted to catch him when he stumbled and almost fell, wanted to hold him and kiss him and never let him go. Erwin tried to reach out to him, but Mike jerked away.

“You shouldn’t have done it,”

“It’s better that you’re alive,” Mike said. “It’s better,”

Erwin stood at a distance from him; knowing, as Mike did, that they would never again be able to close the gulf between them; that if they ever so much as brushed against each other, skin on skin, then Erwin would once more drop down dead. This was it, for as long as they lived.

“It’s better this way,” Mike said again, trying to convince himself as much as Erwin. “I’d rather have you alive and not be able to touch you, then have you dead and still not be able to touch you. At least this way I can see your smile and hear your voice, and we’ll still -”

“Stop, Mike.” Erwin said, his voice sharp. “Please stop.” Now he sounded like his heart was breaking.

“It’ll be OK,” Mike reassured, trying to convey with his words, something he would have usually conveyed with his hands. He wanted so badly to kiss Erwin’s hair, and stroke the tension out of his back. “We’ll work it out.”

It was then that Levi appeared on the horizon, Erwin’s horse tethered to the saddle of his own.

“What’re you doing?” Levi called. “This is no time for a chat.”

Mike laughed, and looked up at Erwin through the curtain of his hair.

“We’ll work it out,” Erwin agreed. “But right now, we have to get back to the wall.”

It was back to business.


End file.
